


Thousand Yard Stare (Fill These Empty Eyes)

by Mylifeofhockey



Category: SEAL Team (TV)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Kind of Depressing, but oh well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2020-03-20 19:45:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18999271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mylifeofhockey/pseuds/Mylifeofhockey
Summary: The thick fur of Cerberus grounded him. He could almost remember what was real, and what was not.





	Thousand Yard Stare (Fill These Empty Eyes)

The thick fur of Cerberus was coarse under his hand, rough and uncomfortable with dirt and grime, but it grounded him. It reminded Brock of what was real. Dirt was real. Cerb- real. His own ability to feel-- real. It keep him in check. Sometimes, though, it wasn't enough. 

Sometimes nothing was real. Not the popcorn ceiling he couldn't take his eyes off of. Not the fading sunset he watches as they wait for the exfil, trying to ignore blood of other people on his skin. He doesn't know how it got there. Not really. But soon it isn't real. It's just some wierd illusion. Or maybe he's the illusion. It's hard to tell anymore. 

As he sinks deeper into his hole of unknowing, Brock's brother send him an article about the 'thousand yard stare.' It sounded stupid. It was. But that article was the most relevant thing he had read since he had joined up, and the words wouldn't detach from where they had latched themselves to his body. 

When the bullet rips through his spine it isn't real. Trent frantically assessing the damage, urging him to stay awake- not real. Cerberus licking his hand tentatively as he's lifted into the air- not real. It can't be. 

"I'm afraid that as of now, it doesn't look as though you'll ever walk again."

Those words. Not real. Fake. 

A sham

A hoax 

Some thoughtless joke though up by some idiot

No

No

Please no

But yes. 

Every word that came out of the doctor's nouth was real, just like it was real that he would never run a mission with Cerb and Bravo. 

A year has passed since Brock's injury. Cerberus returned with him. Gray specks have made their way onto the dogs chin.

As Brock maneuvers his wheelchair up the ramp to the head doc, the ground beneath him and nothing is real anymore. His hold on his chair releases and as he slides back down the ramp he's floating and suddenly his legs are useful again. He feels the weight of a bullet proof vest on his body and this isn't America anymore. 

As fast as he went he was back, no longer on the ramp but in his psychiatrist's office. He doesn't speak. He doesn't listen. 

Later he wheels his way to Arlington. He rolls right up to Sonny's grave and places a hand on Cerb. Runs his hand through the coarse fur. This- this was real. 

**Author's Note:**

> It's 2:18am right now and I'm pretty sure none of this fic makes sense but I'm too tired to care right now. 
> 
> Enjoy:)


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